JUST ONE DAMNED THING AFTER ANOTHER

by Jodi Taylor

  And I’d spent forty-eight hours living off sandwiches and sleeping on the floor. Alone.

  ‘Does anyone actually take this bloody exam?’

  ‘Not in living memory. That’s the whole point. It’s an initiative test. They know we all cheat. It’s expected. The trick is to look them in the eye and lie right down the line.’

  Well, bloody, bollocking hell!

  I was still somewhat aggrieved over the Outdoor Survival thing, but the three-day pod exam was a triumph, as were Thursday’s simulations. The end was in sight, which was just as well, because I was absolutely knackered. It would be typical if I fell at the last fence. Only the sims weren’t the last fence. The last fence was on Tuesday. Tuesday was the real deal.

  Chapter Three

  Tuesday was the day when we finally found out if we had what it took. No more hiding behind the theory or the lectures or the sims. No more hiding from our own fears. This was it at last.

  I kicked off the covers and bounded out of bed. Not something that happened too often. After a quick shower I dressed, with luck for the last time in the now despised greys. Skipping down the corridor, I banged on Sussman’s door. ‘Come on! Today’s the day.’

  I heard his door open behind me, but didn’t stop. Dancing round the corner, I ran into Chief Farrell. It was like hitting a warm wall.

  ‘Sorry, Chief. Did I hurt you?’

  He smiled patiently. ‘No, Miss Maxwell, I have survived. Your big day, then?’

  ‘You betcha, Chief. Shrewsbury, circa 1400. Can you believe it?’

  ‘I seem to remember you mentioning it almost incessantly this last week. You’ve got Number Eight, by the way.’

  ‘Great! Eight is my lucky number.’ I grinned like an idiot and hopped from foot to foot in my impatience to get going,

  ‘Go, Miss Maxwell, before you break something.’

  ‘Bye, Chief.’ And I was gone.

  I helped myself to eggs, bacon, hash browns and grapefruit juice. The others did the same, although Nagley just pushed hers around the plate. I thought she looked a little pale and when I spoke to her she only nodded. Sussman, naturally, was nearly as full of it as me.

  As soon as we finished, we set off to Wardrobe. I was issued a thick, coarse, brown woollen dress of ankle length.

  ‘Forget sweeping around with a long dress,’ said Mrs Enderby, supervising my transformation. ‘This is not the movies. Nothing picks up dust, dirt, wet, excrement and the occasional dead dog as much as a sweeping hemline. You’ll thank us when you’re tip-toeing through the delights of a medieval street.’ She was kind enough not to mention occasionally having to run for my life as well. The look we were going for was a young, respectable housewife, maybe a journeyman’s wife or an upper servant to a prosperous household. A young, unmarried and seemingly unprotected girl wandering around the streets would be asking for trouble.

  Underneath I wore several linen shifts and, underneath them, a sports bra and modern thermal underwear. There was no way I would be wandering around medieval Shrewsbury in early spring with no drawers on. And, as Mrs Enderby so cheerfully said, if things got bad then the wearing of anomalous underwear was going to be the least of my problems.

  I also got a linen coif to show my married status, a pair of stout leather shoes, a dark green cloak and a basket. We always carry something. It helps us blend in and gives us something to do with our hands.

  They showed me the waterproof matches, compass and water purification tablets all carefully sewn into concealed pockets.

  Sussman was off to a Victorian village cricket match, Nagley to Restoration London, and Grant got Roman York. All quiet and unspectacular jumps since we were, for the first and last time, going solo. It only ever happens on the first jump; for all other jumps there are always at least two historians.

  Wardrobe checked us over for watches and jewellery and then despatched us to the hangar. Of course, everyone knew where we were going and why. Best wishes and good luck calls followed us down the corridors. I don’t know how the others felt, but my insides were somersaulting and I was equally torn between fear and excitement.

  We entered the noisy hangar. All the pods were in on that day so there were a lot of people around.

  We scattered towards our respective pods. Number Eight was at the end. Chief Farrell was waiting. The computer read the codes and opened the door. I climbed in and looked around. The console sat to the right of the door in this pod and I could see the co-ordinates already laid in.

  ‘All done,’ said the Chief. ‘It’s all on automatic for this jump. There’s really nothing for you to do but sit back and enjoy the ride. Let’s just rein you in a bit so we can go through the pre-flight checks.’ He pulled his scratchpad from his knee pocket and began punching keys while I walked around checking everything. Opening a locker door I was surprised to see it fully stocked with rations; lots of rations.

  ‘What’s all this?’

  ‘Oh, I forgot to say. We’re turning this one round as soon as you come back, so it’s ready loaded for fourteen days. Is this a problem for you?’

  ‘No, that’s fine.’

  ‘Well, the head’s working. Try and keep it that way. So is the incinerator. The tanks are full and the cells charged. It’s the easiest jump you’ll ever have; absolutely nothing for you to do. How long are you going for?’

  ‘Only six hours. I used to know Shrewsbury quite well, so I’m looking forward to having a good wander round. They won’t let me stay any longer.’

  He smiled. ‘Six hours is long enough for your first trip.’

  ‘Am I going in real time?’

  ‘No. Six hours for you and thirty minutes for me. After I’ve seen you off, I’m going to make myself a cup of coffee and wait over there for you to come back. You’ll be back here before I’ve finished it.’

  ‘If you have a cup of tea ready for me, then I’ll tell you all about it.’

  He looked at me with his head on one side. ‘Yes, all right.’

  I was suddenly embarrassed. ‘Oh, no, it’s OK, Chief. I just thought … you know …of course, it’s nothing special for you, is it?’

  ‘I shall demand a blow-by-blow account from you in return for a mug of tea. Now, are you all set?’

  Putting the basket on the second chair, I settled in the left-hand seat and checked the read-outs. I took a deep breath, turned and grinned at him. ‘Yes!’

  ‘Good luck! See you later.’

  After he had gone, I said, not without a bit of a wobble, ‘Computer, close the door.’ The door shut. Well, so far, so good. Across from me, Pod Three disappeared. I said, ‘Computer, confirm co-ordinates are laid in.’

  ‘Confirmed.’

  Another deep breath. ‘Initiate jump.’

  ‘Jump initiated.’

  There were no flashing lights, no calendars with the dates peeling away and no dramatic music. The world went white for a few moments and then cleared. I peered out eagerly at what had to be the most un-Shrewsbury like landscape on the planet.

  Green grass flowed as far as the eye could see. On the horizon, huge snow-capped mountains jutted up into a clear blue sky. I didn’t know where or when I was, but it sure as hell wasn’t Shrewsbury. It probably wasn’t Kansas, either. I’m pretty sure I said, ‘Shit!’ and switched on the other cameras, in case Shrewsbury was hiding round the corner. But there was no corner. No Shrewsbury. No nothing. Only waving grass.

  I sat for a bit and had a think. After a while I said, ‘Computer; confirm date and location.’

  ‘Shrewsbury, England. 1408.’

  ‘Computer; confirm time of jump remaining.’

  ‘Five hours, fifty-six minutes.’

  Given the socking great Shrewsbury-shaped gap in the landscape and the fact that my plans for the day had been kicked into touch, I really should go home now. On the other hand …

  ‘Door.’

  The door opened and cold, fresh air flooded in. I stood up slowly. Standing in the doorway, I put one hand on eac
h side of the door jamb and cautiously peered out.

  In front of me, the grass rippled and shimmered in the breeze. The sun beat down from a cloudless blue sky. Apart from the hissing wind, it was utterly silent.

  I turned back into the pod, paused and then looked to the door again, considering my options. I could demand emergency extraction from the computer, which would whirl me back to St Mary’s at nose-bleeding speed almost before the words had been uttered. It’s quick and definitely not painless. That’s why it’s for emergencies only. I certainly wasn’t where I should be and it would be the cautious, the sensible thing to do. But, for God’s sake, I was an historian and cautious and sensible were things that happened to other people. I wasn’t in any danger; the worst that could happen would be an afternoon of mild tedium. People usually only shrieked for emergency extraction when they were actually on fire or bleeding from multiple wounds. What would I say? What emergency could I declare? ‘I’m not in Shrewsbury,’ hardly seemed to cut it. What was the point of doing this if not to explore a little? And the pod wasn’t going anywhere for five hours.

  On the other hand, there had obviously been a major malfunction. If I went outside and the stupid thing went off without me then I was in deep shit. Presumably it and everyone else thought I was in 15th-century Shrewsbury. Yes, a sensible person would definitely not go outside.

  I picked up the basket and wedged it in the doorway. If the door couldn’t close then the pod couldn’t jump. Theoretically.

  Standing in the doorway I took a long step outside. Nothing changed, so I took another. Even not knowing where or when I’d landed could not detract from my excitement. I was in another time! I was an historian! I held out my arms and twirled around and around. I was an historian! The sights I would see. I shouted, ‘Yes!’ turned a cartwheel and my coif fell off.

  It seemed wise to calm down a little. I didn’t want my first jump to be my last. Protocol says the first thing to do is to establish personal safety – always a bit of an optional extra for historians. I scrambled up on to the roof and revolved slowly around 360 degrees. Shading my eyes, I turned around the other way. The computer remained silent. None of the proximity alerts went off. I still had no idea where I was, or when, but this world was empty. Nothing impeded the view from horizon to horizon; nothing in the sky; no smoke; no vapour trails; not even a bird. Only the swaying grass moved in the wind. I was completely alone.

  It could have been frightening, but the assignment was only for five hours and after all those years at Uni, more years post-grad work, the archaeology experiences and then all that training at St Mary’s, I found it very pleasant just to stand, eyes closed, with the sun on my face and listen to the silence.

  After a while I decided I could improve on this so I jumped down, made myself a cup of tea, snagged a bar of high-energy chocolate from the rations locker, spread my cloak on the ground and sat with my back against the sunny side of the pod.

  I was happily sunning myself when the computer cleared its throat and announced sixty minutes to the return jump. I’d done it! Assignment completed!

  I did a quick tidy round because historians never go back with a messy pod. I picked everything up, did the outside FOD plod (Foreign Object Drop) to check nothing had been left behind and the inside POD plod to make sure I hadn’t inadvertently picked something up. Very important that, because the pod wouldn’t jump if I had. I put the folded cloak inside my basket and placed it on the second chair, incinerated the chocolate wrapper, washed my face and hands, settled myself in the chair and watched the numbers count down.

  At thirty minutes the computer reminded me again. And again at ten minutes, five minutes, one minute and finally, at thirty seconds. I’d be back in seconds, shout at the techies for not knowing their Shrewsbury from their elbow, have a brew with the Chief, check in with Sick Bay, sign something official, exchange the despised greys for blues, drop the word ‘trainee’ from my life and become a proper, fully-fledged historian. Look out world.

  ‘Ten, nine, eight’ said the computer. ‘Five, four, three,’ and the voice stopped as the entire console went dark.

  The entire bloody console went dark.

  This time I did panic. My heart stopped and it wasn’t until my chest began to hurt that I remembered to breathe. Gripping the edge of the console, I shouted ‘No, no, no, no’ and began to thump the panel. Strangely, this failed to work at all.

  I struggled to stay calm. I kept staring at the console, desperately willing it to fire up again. This was unheard of. I’d never seen a dark panel because no pod had ever failed before. This could not be worse. I was stranded at an unknown destination. The pod had malfunctioned and thought it was in Shrewsbury in the 1400s and so any search initiated by St Mary’s would go there. If I didn’t know where I was then how would they? And it was all my own fault. If I’d gone back immediately when it became apparent the jump had gone wrong, then I wouldn’t be here now.

  ‘Computer.’

  No response.

  ‘Computer, status report.’

  Nothing.

  ‘Computer, open the door.’

  The door stayed shut.

  I pushed the manual control and the door slid open. So, I still had power and I still had life support. I just didn’t have a working pod. For all intents and purposes it was now just a bloody hut. I switched the lights off and then back on again. It was noticeably colder outside, so I shut the door. The sun was lower. It would be dark soon.

  If in doubt, make some tea. I curled up in the first chair, spread the cloak over my lap, cuddled my tea and tried to think what to do. It didn’t take long to reach the conclusion there was nothing I could do. I could take the panel off and have a look. Then I could shrug my shoulders and replace the panel. There were tea bags with more electronic know-how than me. I could see no way round it. I was fucked.

  Strangely, I found the conclusion quite liberating. When you’re fucked, you’re fucked. Things really can’t get much worse.

  With that thought, the last sunlight disappeared outside. The sensible thing would be to conserve power and go to bed with the sun. But I don’t sleep well anyway and there was no chance tonight, so I thought I would use the time productively. I began opening and closing doors, pulling out drawers, checking my resources and generally taking stock.

  I had rations for about fourteen days. Or more, if I stuck to just two meals a day. Water, ditto. The head worked (for the time being). The incinerator worked. I found two old-fashioned scribble pads I could use for my log, something I’d forgotten about until now. I had heavy weather clothing and boots, all too big for me. I had matches, a compass and water tablets, two sleeping modules and a spare blanket that smelled a bit iffy. It could be a lot worse.

  I shoved an arm into the rations pile and pulled out two trays at random. Chicken curry and stewed apple. Sod that for a game of soldiers. I tossed the stewed apple and pulled out sticky toffee pud. If I was going to die alone and abandoned I was buggered if I was going to do it on stewed apple.

  The food actually tasted quite good. Fortunately, I’m a terrible cook, so my expectations of food are never high anyway. I think airline food is great. I pulled the red heating tabs and munched away. Afterwards I washed my face and hands, took down and plaited my hair, undressed and pulled out one of the sleep modules. It moulded itself around me and sensing I was cold, began to warm up. If ever there was a time and a place to have a bit of a snivel then this was it.

  I passed.

  It was a long night; a long, long night. I think I dozed a couple of times but not for very long. I made mental lists of the Kings and Queens of England, then their spouses. I composed an imaginary essay on the causes of the Wars of the Roses. I listed my top ten favourite books, then my ten favourite movies. I played Shoot, Shag or Marry. It was a long night.

  When the screen showed a cold, grey light outside, I got up and made some tea.

  I tried talking to the computer again but it wasn’t having any of it.
I tried hard not to remember that this time yesterday I was having breakfast at St Mary’s.

  My training said it was important to establish a routine, so I began to map out my day. Tidy the pod and myself and put away the sleeping gear. Have brunch around mid-morning. Spend some time on the roof looking for signs of human habitation – although if I found any, whether I would run to or from was a good question. Walk or run for one hour. The ground was so flat I should be able to run for some time without losing sight of the pod. I’m not good with direction. Sit in the sun and read until it became chilly. Go inside and tidy up. Eat again. Read again. Write up the daily log. Go to bed. Don’t lie awake panicking.

  That’s how it went for two days. It wasn’t unpleasant. On the third day I was sitting outside, using a valuable page in the scribble pad to sketch the mountains when something clicked in my head. This was not a bad life. I had everything I needed; good weather, a safe environment, something to read, enough to eat.

  Yes, I did, didn’t I? I had everything I needed to survive comfortably for a fortnight at least.

  Another click. How lucky that this pod was loaded ready for a quick turn over, even though there were other pods available for use.

  And then I started to laugh. As if Chief Farrell would ever send out an unreliable pod with a trainee. This was why they sent you alone. It wasn’t spending an afternoon in Shrewsbury that was the test. This was the real test. To survive, alone, lost, with no hope of rescue or backup. This was why he programmed the co-ordinates himself. This was why it was all on automatic. I bet if I just sat quietly and waited; the pod would re-activate itself in twelve days’ time and get me back to St Mary’s as if nothing had happened. Well, I was going to tough it out. Of course, if I was wrong then I was going to look pretty silly in twelve days’ time. On the other hand, who would know?

  The days slipped slowly by; each one the same as the last in this unchanging landscape. I sat in the sun, thumb in bum, brain in neutral and let my mind drift. I thought about the chain of events leading to this moment. I thought about my childhood, but not for long. I wondered if I wanted to be alone all my life. I wondered if I didn’t want to be alone all my life. I wrote my log, spending five or six pages on the subject of technical incompetence and embellishing the text with small sketches. I had long chats with myself. I tried new ways of wearing my hair. And really doing my best not to think about what would happen on Day 14. Which came, of course, shortly after Day 13, as is the scheme of things. I didn’t leave the pod all day, waiting for the console to light up again.